


The Rise of the Cinnamon Roll

by Ace_of_Cups (Ace_Of_Cups)



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom!Bitty, Check Please! - Freeform, Chowder's not actually a pure precious angel Bitty's just projecting, Dubious Consent, Exhibitionism, Group Sex, Hand Jobs, M/M, No mention of lube but assume it's there with the power of fanfic, PWP, Rarepair, Rimming, Shameless Smut, Standalone, Top!Chowder, Under-negotiated Kink, Voyeurism, Well it's technically reaction formation not projection but oh well, dubcon, implied Holsom, kind of, omgcp - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:54:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27599881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ace_Of_Cups/pseuds/Ace_of_Cups
Summary: Bitty's charm, warmth, and self-confidence were big parts of what convinced Chowder to enroll in Samwell before he'd even completed the tour. They quickly bonded, Bitty becoming a kind of peer mentor for Chowder, someone on whom he could rely for advice and guidance (and pie). Things got complicated quickly for Chowder, when he realized that Bitty's tendency to defend his purity like some sort of feral, Southern knight with his own code of chivalry flattered him, annoyed him, and, most strangely, turned him on. But Bitty sees only the delicate purity he feels obligated to protect, and no matter how many times Chowder has tried to broach the subject, he can't seem to get through to Bitty. There comes a day when Chowder's frustration and arousal prove too much to withstand, and he finally finds a way to make Bitty (and a couple of not-so-innocent bystanders) understand that he's not actually a pure cinnamon roll, once and for all. Gratuitous smut ensues.
Relationships: Adam "Holster" Birkholtz/Justin "Ransom" Oluransi, Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Chris "Chowder" Chow
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22





	The Rise of the Cinnamon Roll

**Author's Note:**

> I...have no excuse. None whatsoever. Several reasons, but no excuse! Mostly, I just think it's hot, and once the idea crossed my mind I needed to write it out of my system or I was going to be distracted forever. Also, the tendency to run with Chowder's "cinnamon roll" characterization to the point of occasionally crossing into that bad trend of desexualizing Asian men in media (and life) irks me, though, uh, please don't mistake smut for activism. This is not #praxis. Just horny, horny smut. 
> 
> As with all other fic, I will never intentionally show this to anyone I know and speak with on a regular basis, so unfortunately that means this is un-beta'd and is likely to remain so. I'm also posting a little more quickly than usual, so the likelihood that I'll return to this and edit it in the future is pretty high. I hope any glaring errors or general clunkiness in prose doesn't impede your enjoyment!

From the moment that he arrived at Samwell, Chowder looked up to Bitty, whose pies and general behavior through that first tour of the campus convinced him that this was a university in which he could thrive, a team he could love. Chowder was open and unashamed with his affections, always had been, and this proved to be no exception. His unabashed “Wow!”s and expressions of awe at everything he saw on the tour, the rapt attention he directed at Bitty’s every word, the enthusiasm with which he asked questions (”Do you make pies for your teammates often?”) all endeared him to Bitty quickly. 

Chowder’s affection for Bitty developed, quick and natural. Beyond the pies and the thoughtfulness of the welcome bags, Bitty was kind, energetic, and clearly had a wicked sharp tongue when he needed to, as evidenced by a few cutting remarks dealt with the brightest smile to a few sports bros who tried to make comments on his shorts. Which were, to be fair, quite short. And tight, Chowder noticed with a private blush. The confidence and self-possession shorts like that required captivated to the soon-to-be goalie, who had occasionally considered experimenting with his style but always found himself sticking with his straight cut jeans and Sharks hoodies. 

He quickly bonded with Bitty, and came to him for advice on everything from his class schedule to what he should eat for dinner—though, admittedly, if he was asking for Bitty’s input about food he was usually hoping that Bitty would just feed him, and he was seldom disappointed. Concern early on that he was bothering Bitty or taking up too much of his time were quickly allayed by Bitty’s reassurances and the rest of the team’s frequent approving comments to him about having Bitty on his side like that. The rest of the team clearly respected Bitty and even seemed pretty protective of him in many ways, which Chowder observed with warmth in his heart. It quickly developed, too, that Bitty began showing much of the same protectiveness toward Chowder.

Chowder liked it. He liked the attention, he liked feeling like someone was looking after him. He even liked how feral Bitty became once the other team members picked up on the fact that all they had to do to get a rise from him was make a lewd comment to and/or about Chowder. He could admit he wasn’t the most experienced man on the planet, and wasn’t necessarily well-versed in some of the truly depraved things the other guys liked to joke about, but this was something he was used to and had anticipated when joining a college hockey team. Over time, however, Chowder began to chafe, just a little, under Bitty’s frantic defense of his honor. He was not, in fact, completely ignorant of sexual matters, he wasn’t even actually a virgin coming into college. Sure, he was less comfortable with the performance of masculine bravado that others seemed to enjoy, and he preferred overall to keep details of his sex life to himself, but he didn’t mind the joking. But though he knew that the other men on the team liked him and respected him well enough, Chris couldn’t help but feel, sometimes, like he wasn’t seen as quite their equal, and the fear that they might come to believe Bitty, that they might come to see him as some virginal, fragile child, crept into his mind. 

As Bitty kept defending him, chewing out other members of the team who told raunchy stories in his presence or teased Chowder about his sexual experience, Chowder realized something unexpected. It happened one day, a few of them gathered in the Haus’ main room, hanging out after a day of classes. Chowder sprawled on the ratty green couch, which Bitty’d already given him hell for. Ransom and Holster were also on the couch but the two large men managed to take only the space of one somehow, piled awkwardly on top of each other because they were, Chowder had quickly learned, fundamentally inseparable. Shitty was regaling them all with a truly shocking secondhand story of some former upperclassman’s escapades.

Predictably, Bitty had been hovering between amused at the story and alert, in case Shitty crossed some line that no one else could discern and he needed to come to Chowder’s defense. He did, naturally, and the next thing Chowder, who had been laughing along with the story, found Bitty’s warm hands covering his ears again. Annoyance flashed through him, but he also found himself becoming particularly aware of Bitty’s hands where they touched the sides of his face. The skin was softer than most of the other members of SMH, he clearly moisturized, but one could not play college hockey with perfectly soft hands, and there was a little bit of grip to them. They were warm, and Chowder’s mind drifted to times he had watched Bitty’s hands, coated in flour, kneading a plump, smooth dough. It was suggestive in the tamest way, but Chowder felt a stirring in his pants. He blushed furiously and tried to cover his crotch without drawing anyone’s attention to it, though looking around he couldn’t be certain no one had noticed as they were all teasing Bitty. 

That night found Chowder stroking himself in the safety of his dorm’s shower, imagining his hands were Bitty’s. 

From that point forward, it only got worse. Bitty became a frequent star of Chowder’s late night fantasies, and there was one especially shocking sex dream during his nap on the bus after a game. Whenever Bitty became protective of him, Chowder was keenly aware of the discrepancy between this version of him that Bitty was defending and the reality, which was caught up in fantasies of showing Bitty just how wrong he was. It was exhilarating, it was frustrating, it was, seemingly, an irrevocable part of life now. 

~*/\\*~

“How dare you say that to the one pure ray of sunshine on this team!” Bitty gasped, his drawl curling through the words in the thick way it did only when he was ready to fight. He hovered protectively behind Chowder, who was sat at the kitchen table, face red as Ransom and Holster roared with laughter. Bitty covered Chowder’s ears with his hands.

“You just forget he ever said that, honey,” Bitty said to the back of Chowder’s head.

“I don’t think he can hear you, Bits,” Holster teased, slowly catching his breath from his laughter. “You’re defending his purity too well.”

Ransom leaned against Holster, his laughter dissolved into mischievous giggles. “Bro, Chowder’s grown, he wakes up with morning wood just like the rest of us.”

Holster gestured, “Every morning, like clockwork. It’s just nature.”

“It’s science,” Ransom agreed with an effected air of scholarly gravitas.

“Pretty sure I’ve seen him chubbin’ up during bus naps.”

With the same scholarly air, Ransom nodded in agreement and added, “Our little shark isn’t so little, Bittle.”

Bitty retreated across the kitchen, face nearly sunburn red as the D-men howled behind him. “I’m not hearing this, you two,” he protested as he grabbed a tea towel and buried his face in it.

“Bits, I think you’ve been possessed by your Moomaw or something, you’re swooning like a Baptist choir woman,” Ransom teased, earning him a laughing slap on the shoulder from Holster. 

Chowder’s face was tinged pink from embarrassment which, while it had originated in Ransom and Holster’s teasing, had him turning around to look sideways at Bitty. “Bitty! Uh. You know I look up to you! And I really appreciate how much you look out for me! But. Um.” His face pinked further. “You do know I’m not actually, like, a pure perfect person, right?”

Bitty stepped back to Chowder and placed consoling hands on his shoulders. “Of course not, sweetie, I know you’re grown it’s just. You’re not gross and horny like these brutes.” 

Chowder felt his face grow hotter as the D-men continued laughing at Bittle’s mother hen behavior. The confusing mix of affection he felt towards Bitty, his frustration at Bitty’s insistent neutering of him, the fear that others on the team would never appreciate him as “one of the guys” came to a head. Chowder could feel Bitty’s hands on his shoulders, tender and firm, the hands he had fantasized about on more than one occasion, and it was too much.

He stood up from his chair in a burst. His hands shook visibly from the adrenaline and lust and frustration, though the three other men in the room interpreted it as the anger of someone teased past the limit. The laughter hushed and Ransom began shifting into apologies.

His apologies escaped unsaid as his jaw dropped. Beside him, Holster’s eyes went wide and his seemingly ceaseless movement froze.

Chowder had walked Bitty backwards, the length of his body pressed firmly against Bitty’s retreating form until he was against the wall with Chowder’s arms pinned on either side of his head. Chowder leaned in and kissed Bitty resolutely, lips parting to lick into Bitty’s mouth as he froze in shock. The typically raucous kitchen fell silent, filled only with the slick sounds of making out and breathing. 

Bitty’s brain seemed to have whited out from the moment Chowder began pushing him around. That’s the only explanation that the rational part of him could grab onto to explain why Chowder’s forcefulness had instantly set his pulse racing and his skin heating, why the feeling of being shoved against the wall and pinned by his precious Chowder was bypassing all propriety and swelling in his pants. In front of Ransom and Holster, no less, the rational part of his brain noted.

Chowder broke off the kiss and his lips were slicked and shined with saliva, his bangs had fallen over his eyes which gleamed with undisguised lust. Bitty leaned, body surprisingly slack, against the wall; his mouth hung open, his eyes were partly closed, his hands pressed against the wall. Bitty’s legs were spread enough for Chowder to have inserted himself, pressing his thighs—Goalie thighs, sweet Jesus, Bitty thought—firmly against Bitty’s crotch, hips thrust forward into Bitty’s lower belly enough to pin him to the wall so that he hardly needed to support himself. Chowder didn’t need to look to know that Bitty was hard himself, he could feel the length of Bitty’s dick against his thigh, and he watched the precise moment that Bitty’s eyes flashed awareness of Chowder’s cock against his lower abs. 

Bitty seemed to have lost speech for the time being. Chowder, determined to drive his point home and swept up in the heat building between their two bodies, rocked his body to rub a thigh against Bitty’s hardness. Bitty’s mouth hung slack and his eyes fluttered as if to fall shut. Leaning forward, Chowder licked lightly at the bottom of Bitty’s ear, nibbled and tugged on the soft skin, blew a gentle breath across the tenderness. 

Speaking in a voice that was a whisper yet still forceful, Chowder said, “I’m not pure, Bitty.” He gently rocked forward to emphasize his point with the hardness of his dick pressing against Bitty.

Bitty regained enough composure to blush a nuclear shade of red and splutter a protest. “Chowder, honey, I mean of course you’re not—I mean obviously I know you’ve…kissed people and, sure, you’ve probably done…other…—I didn’t mean to imply, it’s just you’re not like the rest of these boys, you’re sweet and I want to protect that about you.”

Frustration spread its sharp edges through the pulsing heat of arousal building in Chowder’s body. Its edges pricked and nipped at him, though the effect was surprisingly intoxicating and Chowder felt the last of his reason surrender to the force of it all. Who cares that he was in the kitchen of the Haus?—Who cares that Ransom and Holster were watching Chowder hump Bitty against the wall?—Who cares who might walk in at any moment? Chowder knew only two things: 1) He needed Bitty to understand that he wasn’t some fragile, perfect creature in need of protection, and 2) He really fucking liked Bitty’s protectiveness in a much more erotic way than Bitty seemed capable of suspecting.

Chowder took a sudden step back, interrupting Bitty’s chattering protestations. Bitty stumbled a bit and caught himself before he froze in shock, eyes locking onto the shape of Chowder’s hardness where it tented his sweatpants. Somewhere in the distance where the kitchen table must have still been, Chowder and Bitty both heard Ransom and Holster’s wolf whistles and almost reverent utterances of awe—  
”Bro…”   
“I know, bro.”   
“They’re feeling it!”   
“I know, bro.” A shifting rustle.   
“Did you see how big Bitty is?”   
“If I’m honest, I was looking at that big top tent in Chowder’s pants, dude.”   
“My kinda dudes.”   
“I know, bro.”—but neither paid attention to their onlookers. Bitty seemed to realize his boner was straining visibly against the soft fabric of his short shorts, on display for an audience, and went to cover himself as best as he could with his hands. Chowder, however, dropped to his knees in a smooth movement and grabbed Bitty’s wrists firmly with one hand, his grip unrelenting. As he had when Chowder first manhandled him into the wall, Bitty’s gaze began to glaze over and his muscles seemed to slacken just a touch; his voice trailed off into a punched-out exhale and a languid inhale as his body melted into the wall. 

Chowder caught the transition, looked at his hand where it gripped Bitty’s wrists, and looked back up at Bitty’s hazy expression. A sly grin crept onto his face. Bitty liked being manhandled, apparently—no, Bitty really liked being manhandled, to the point that he lost the train of his chattering, and anyone who knew anything about Bitty knew how essentially impossible such a feat was. Armed with unexpected knowledge, Chowder refocused on the task at hand.

He reached up and gently cupped his hand around the bulge in Bitty’s crotch, a bulge that even the outspokenly lascivious members of their team didn’t comment on though everyone could see how Bitty filled out the material of his ridiculously small shorts. Chowder had always wondered if Bitty was truly that shameless, or if he could honestly be unaware of how well he filled his shorts—or, as he sometimes thought in private moments, his hand merciless around his slick cock, maybe Bitty had a bit of an exhibitionist streak in him, and maybe he was getting off on how the others had to fight not to ogle when it felt like they could nearly trace the very shape of him with their eyes. Chowder squeezed gently to feel the warm weight of Bitty’s balls shifting in his hand, the hard length stretching beyond his grip, and Bitty chirped, simultaneously surprised, scandalized and, as was apparent to all in the room, hopelessly aroused. 

Lifting Bitty’s hands with his tight grip on the wrists, Chowder slid his other hand up Bitty’s body, untucking the French tuck Bitty insisted on even in this tank, and finally feeling his way up the warm skin of Bitty’s stomach. Bitty’s body twitched, his abs flexing beneath Chowder’s encroaching fingers, and Bitty shrieked with laughter he fought to suppress, apparently quite ticklish. Tempted, Chowder considered what it would be like to fully work Bitty apart with laughter, helplessly turned on by his inability to break free of Chowder’s grip—though of course he could break free, and that was clearly part of the appeal. But Chowder wanted more than anything to irrevocably shatter the myth of his innocence. He pulled Bitty’s shorts down with a forceful tug.

Ransom and Holster, from their place at the kitchen table, uttered exclamations of bro-ish shock, in that whispered “Broooo…” register that somehow combined shock, approval, and their own burgeoning arousal. “What did I just say?” “I know, bro.” “Bitty’s hung!” “Hot.”

Bitty gasped and squirmed as his erection sprung obscenely from his shorts, hearing but not fully registering the running commentary, feeling only the gaze of his three teammates as if they were physically touching his exposed skin, the nerves of which sparked as if electrified. He fought halfheartedly against Chowder’s grip, but as he knew and as Chowder suspected it was intended more to feel how tightly he was being held than to truly break free of the bind. His balls were already tightening with arousal, like he could burst at any moment.

Chowder’s whole body was practically vibrating with the rush of libido, eyes hungrily taking in the sight of Bitty’s dick as it swung lumberingly from the movement of Bitty’s squirming. Letting go of Bitty’s shorts where they pulled tight across his lower thighs, he reached up and grasped it at the tip, grip loose and teasing. Bitty panted and unintentionally thrust his hips forward in pursuit of sensation, his cock pumping abruptly through Chowder’s hand. Chowder tightened his grip at the base and caught him off-guard, pushing Bitty firmly against the wall with his one hand, wrists still gripped tight, and ratcheting the pressure and heat up considerably as Bitty pulled back through his fist.

“I don’t need protecting, Bitty,” Chowder said as he began to quickly and mercilessly jack him off, sliding Bitty’s foreskin up and down his shaft without lube, not knowing that this was Bitty’s typical way of getting himself off, not knowing how lewd Bitty found it to feel at once so familiar and so intruded upon by Chowder, whom he invested so much energy in sheltering from this side of himself. Chowder moved his hand from around Bitty’s dick to pin his hips against the wall with a firm grip and leaned forward to swallow as much of Bitty’s length as he could comfortably.

“Christ, Chowder, what are you doing?” Bitty asked, but the breathy moan of the question undercut any attempt at protest he might have intended. It was obscene, the heat of Chris’ mouth around his dick, the slick slurp of his sliding up and down its length. His body was betraying him in every moment that it responded to Chowder’s attention. Chowder, the adorable goalie perpetually in teal who consulted Bitty about the smallest matters of transitioning into the pseudo-adulthood of college—from how many notebooks he should buy to what was the best route from his dorm to his class (though this was quickly decided in favor of any route that took him past the Haus) to how he should talk to Dex and Nursey about their bickering. Chowder, who made the closest thing Bitty had ever seen to actual heart eyes on a human whenever Bitty sat an extra slice of pie down in front of him, who was unashamed to let Bittle pamper him like a mother hen and preened visibly when Bitty complimented him. This Chowder couldn’t possibly be the same one whose tongue was able to move like that, who seemed not to have anything resembling a functional gag reflex.

He pulled off with a loud slurp, as if to drive home his point to anyone who cared to question his purity still. His lips were already a bit puffy and red, spit-slick, his chin glinting where drool had trailed down untended. Bitty looked at him as if through a haze, mouth still hanging open—He’d tell me to close my mouth before a fly flew in, just like a grandma, Chowder thought—wrists still gripped tight and all performance of struggle abandoned.

Chowder spoke, looking up at Bitty as his head fell back against the wall. “I haven’t—uh—I haven’t said anything because I didn’t know how and like I know you mean well and I really appreciate it and I kinda like when you’re protective of me, but also I’ve been attracted to you since I first saw you on the tour. So it’s kinda weird and sometimes funny and sometimes annoying when you try to convince everyone that I’m not dirty or horny like the rest of you because a lot of the time when you’re doing that I’m really turned on.”

Ironically, Chowder couldn’t help the bit of blush that warmed his face as he finally admitted this to Bitty, whose expression, in a split second, ran the gamut from confused to shocked to aroused and back to disbelieving. But then Bitty’s eyes crept down (Out of desire? Out of fear? Chowder wondered) and finally took in the sight of Chowder’s erection where it ran along the length of one thigh, straining against his grey sweatpants. Chowder couldn’t be aware of the fact that Bitty had needed to scold himself for ogling when Chowder first walked into the room earlier that day in these pants and found himself wondering if Chowder was really walking around campus going commando in the most notoriously thirst-trapping of casual wear items. To allow himself to look, even now, with his erection standing resolutely from his body, spit shiny and slowly drying in the open air of the kitchen, felt transgressive. But there he was, the shape of him nearly as big as Bitty, practically compelling Bitty to take it in finally.

“You get,” Bitty swallowed through the sudden dryness in his mouth, “Turned on by me? By me being protective?” The irony wasn’t lost on him, of course, as the realization slowly began to take root that in his effort to preserve Chowder’s innocence he had been unwittingly courting his sexual appetites and fantasies. 

Chowder nodded, the same glint of hopefulness, as if waiting for Bitty’s smile and a gold star, the same expression he wore whenever he told Bitty about passing a test or blocking an especially difficult shot from Jack in their practices together. “Yeah! Um. You’re hot? And every time you fuss over me like I need protecting I think about fucking you to prove you wrong.”

Though they were lost in the moment and the revelations at hand, both men distantly registered the muttered, “Goddamn that’s hot” that came from the table. Whether it was Holster or Ransom was impossible to decipher and pointless anyway, as one always said what the other was thinking.

Bitty was nearly incapacitated by the whole situation, Chowder’s words stoking the flame of his arousal despite his best efforts to suppress it. The air in the Haus was warm on his exposed skin and he could smell the lingering scent of his latest baking effort—plum tarts—mingling with the cursed odor of college athletes drowning in Sriracha. The rest of the Haus remained blessedly quiet, with no indication that anyone was going to walk in on this very public scene, though Bitty’s worry about being walked in on only fueled his need further. Chowder remained on his knees before him, Bitty’s cock in his face, breathing gentle breaths that tickled the delicate skin. 

It was too much. “I don’t understand,” Bitty muttered, groaned, overwhelmed by it all, “This makes no sense.”

With another burst of frustration mingling with need no longer resisted, Chowder was up on his feet and grabbing Bitty by both wrists again. He pinned them against the wall, just hard enough to send a vague pulse of pain through Bitty, and Chowder caught the way Bitty’s eyes fluttered and his skin rippled with gooseflesh at being manhandled again. Somewhere in his mind where coherent thought had retired for the time being, Bitty realized he was exposing a secret few knew about him, his enjoyment of submission. But wherever it was, coherent thought was uninterested in taking the steering wheel for the time being, so Bitty found himself unresisting as Chowder pulled him from his place against the wall and walked him toward the table. He could only take shuffling steps as his shorts were still pulled tight around his thighs but Chowder supported him along the way, until he pushed Bitty forward to lay on the table with his feet planted firmly on the floor. Bitty observed briefly that Ransom and Holster had moved closer together, thigh to thigh, and were both watching raptly, their hands moving around each other’s dick, Ransom’s fingers playing at his nipple under his shirt.

“You’re so fucking hot, Bitty,” Holster moaned.

“Chowder really knows how to make a point,” Ransom said.

Bitty’s cheek was pressed against the table, and Chowder had pulled his hands behind his back, one hand gripping his crossed wrists again. He tilted his head enough to see his D-men watching, to make eye contact as they gave their commentary that drifted between praise and teasing. He watched as their eyes widened and the blush on Holster’s pale skin spread further, their eyes focused behind him, on Chowder, he presumed.

Hands briefly cupped, then parted his ass cheeks, and a tongue slicked across Bitty’s hole. The shock, the sensation, the audience, it was too much to fight, and Bitty felt a gasping, breathy moan leave his body. Chowder was intent and relentless in all things to which he put his mind, and Bitty’s ass was no different, apparently. His tongue was insistent in its invasions of this most intimate place, alternating between broad, wet strokes across the sensitive ring of muscle and merciless thrusting, until he was inside Bitty. At some point, fingers were added, stretching and filling him deliciously. Bitty had no sense of how long this lasted, though it felt like an eternity and also much too fast when hot, wet pressure was suddenly missing. He whined, unashamed.

Chowder stood, letting go of Bitty’s wrists long enough to roughly push his pants far enough down to free his dick, which throbbed desperate for attention. He heard Ransom and Holster’s praises and astonished reactions but ignored them to focus on this final driving home of his point. With little preamble, Chowder lined himself up and pushed into Bitty with gentle but insistent pressure. Bitty gasped and writhed and whined on the table, his hands held behind his back uselessly, dick hard and leaking a steady stream of precum under the table, feeling Chowder fill him up until his body was flush against Bitty’s thighs. The hair at the base of Chowder’s dick tickled Bitty’s ass where it brushed against him, but he was lost in the fullness, the heat, the pulsing pressure of Chowder’s length resting inside him, filling him better than anyone but his most daring dildo had to this point.

This is Chowder, Bitty thought, this is my precious ray of sunshine, Chowder, fucking me. The thought, which he believed momentarily might shatter the moment and turn this into something truly regrettable, only made him groan more loudly. 

Chowder pulled nearly all of the way out, slowly, and pushed back in just as deliberately. His pace was gentle to the point of mocking, as if saying, “See, Bitty, I’m still your gentle, pure goalie.” It was too much.

“Fuck me, goddammit, fuck me for real,” Bitty’s voice came suddenly, coherence returned in service to his consuming need.

Chowder would always give Bitty anything he asked for. 

Bitty’s moaning was steady now, staccato bursts propelled by Chowder’s punishing thrusts. Ransom and Holster were rapt, their rhythm matching Chowder’s thrust for thrust on each other’s dicks, fingers slick and shining with precum. Bitty pulled against Chowder’s grip on his wrist, desperate to free a hand and somehow reach his dick which bounced in the air under the table, hard and wanting and unattended, but he couldn’t pull free and this only made him needier, hard to a point he didn’t know he could reach. Chowder was inside him and on him, fucking Bitty’s projected purity and fragility right out of him, fucking him with unmatched determination and focus. 

Chowder’s mind was nearly empty of all thoughts. He was fucking Bitty, Eric, he was inside the blond’s body and being watched. Not only watched, but ogled, lusted after, devoured by their eyes and he knew that where their hands touched their dicks they felt his dick, they felt Bitty’s, they felt the heat and tightness of Bitty’s ass around them, around him. Bitty moaned and whined on the table before him, bent over and useless, half-heartedly fighting Chowder’s grip because it got him off, because he wanted to cum with Chowder buried deep inside him. Chowder wanted the others to see, not just him, he wanted them to see how Bitty lost himself to Chowder, how he was consumed by pleasure Chowder gave him, to know that Chowder could do this to Bitty, who everyone had at least a small crush on, or lusted after, even the straightest bros on the team that no one paid much attention to. 

He paused in his thrusting and, using a foot, hooked a chair pushed under the table and pulled it out. Chowder gently pulled his dick, reddened from friction and slick and hard, so hard, out of Bitty, who whined shamelessly. He lifted Bitty up from the table by his shoulders and gently pulled Bitty’s tank over his head. He wanted Bitty exposed, wanted every flush and pinched nipple and goose-bump to show so the others could see how Chowder affected him; Bitty’s shorts received the same treatment. Sitting in the chair, Chowder guided Bitty by his hips until he straddled Chowder over the chair, thighs flexing wide as he supported himself above Chowder’s waiting erection. Bitty gripped a thigh with one hand, braced himself, sank down until the tip of Chowder was back inside of him, and Chowder began fucking up into him relentlessly. Bitty’s body bounced with the impact as he tried to hold himself steady, his right hand finally free to wrap around his swinging dick and begin pumping as fast as he could, chasing release frantically. 

Bitty felt the exposure working its way under his skin, and it seemed he had nowhere he could look other than Holster and Ransom’s eyes, their gazes hazes of lust and shock and, as they raked over Bitty’s now fully exposed body, naked appreciation and desire. Never had Bitty felt so vulnerable, so displayed for consumption, as he did in this moment, because he could not hide his body let alone his crushing arousal, his desperate need for release, his bliss at feeling somehow simultaneously used as a body and deeply known and connected. Chowder’s hands were hot and gripped tight on the soft, pale skin of his hips, his cock was pumping up into him, his balls and the skin of his thighs made obscene slapping sounds against Bitty’s skin with each contact. 

Bitty came then. His whole body clenched when he crossed the edge, into the desperate sensation of inevitability and the steady, steady building of pressure and pleasure that verged into incomprehensibility, a streak of something like dread filling him as he wondered if he could make it through this moment, if he could survive this feeling that was so deeply physical it became something more. He felt the pressure of Chowder’s dick inside him sharply increase as his body finally pulsed, his ass clenching around Chowder, his back bowing as he fell fully into the goalie’s lap, his feet lifting from the ground, head thrown back onto Chowder’s shoulder. Bitty’s hand had shortened its strokes and sped up as if he were trying to make it end, as if he were worried that it wouldn’t. Ribbons of cum spurted from his dick and onto the table, the floor, Chowder’s thighs.

Seeing this, feeling Bitty tighten around him and how it lasted, how he was lost on Chowder’s dick and in his lap, his body exposed and as close to Chowder’s as possible, was enough. Chowder saw that Holster and Ransom were staring with naked awe, their hands coated in cum, wet stains dark on their shirts. Holster even had a viscous drop of cum clinging to his chin. He was emptying himself inside Bitty then, wrapping his arms around Bitty’s body and clinging desperately, an orgasm shaking through him like he’d never cum before in his life. And then, stillness. 

It was as if the Haus itself sighed, as air seemed to come back into the kitchen, as silence filled the space colored only by panting and Bitty’s occasional soft, gasping whine. The four men sat in shared shock and release and a mutual understanding none had expected from so improbable and inexplicable an encounter. Chowder slowly went soft, still inside Bitty, cum leaking down his length. Bitty was boneless in his lap, limp against his body and head resting against his shoulder. 

“Chowder, you’re a fucking stud, bro,” Ransom said, approval and the disappearing remains of shock in his voice. 

Chowder blushed.

“Yeah, that was ‘swawesome, my man,” Holster agreed. He absentmindedly wiped his hand across Ransom’s shirt, receiving a punch to the shoulder in return.

“Bro, what the fuck, you just wiped jizz on me!”  
“Yeah, your jizz, bro! And you already got it on your shirt!”  
“Fucking nasty, man.”

Holster stood, exasperated, a half-joking “Fine!” trailing him as he went to retrieve paper towels, which he wet with warm water and quickly wiped off his hand, his chin, his still exposed soft dick. He tucked himself back into his shorts and brought more towels back with him, throwing an especially wet one to smack against Ransom’s unsuspecting face.

He glanced at the two still in their chair. “Chowder, I think you broke Bitty,” he laughed. “I don’t think he knows how to process you being a horny beast like the rest of us.” He tossed some warm, wet towels onto Bitty’s chest.

“I think that was the hardest I’ve ever seen anyone cum,” Ransom said, his voice thoughtful as if he were genuinely scouring his memory for something against which to compare this. The others in the room could hear the threat of spreadsheets, with columns like “Duration of Orgasm,” “Number of Ejaculations,” and “Average Distance of Discharge,” in his voice and laughed collectively, even Bitty, whose laugh was relaxed and breathless. 

He sat up in Chowder’s lap and grimaced at the sight of his mess on and across the table. Grabbing the paper towels Holster had thrown at him, he slowly stood up from Chowder’s lap, catching his breath a bit as Chowder slipped fully from inside of him. Wiping down the table was quick work, though he was certainly moving more slowly than usual, wincing occasionally as he took a step. Soreness radiated through him, but it was tinged with satisfaction and the loose, rubbery feeling of the muscles throughout his body. 

Bitty turned and knelt by Chowder, gently using one of the remaining wet towels to clean him off. Chowder watched him with something like a mixing of apprehension and tenderness. The receding of the haze of arousal and frustration left him worrying about how Bitty would react to this, knowing that he went further than he had intended to but wondering if it might be alright. Bitty smiled at him from where he crouched.

“You certainly made your point, sweetie,” Bitty said. His expression darkened slightly. “I’m sorry that I made you uncomfortable with my protectiveness. I just care about you, is all. And…” he blush, “You’re gorgeous, too, but you seemed like you liked having me as kind of a mentor or something, I don’t know. I think I overcompensated.”

Holster huffed a laugh, “You think?”

“Hush up, you,” Bitty shot back, a finger coming up to wag in Holster’s direction, his Georgian grandma persona back in full force.

“I still like you looking out for me,” Chowder admitted, his voice a bit quieter. “I just, um. Needed you to know, I think.” 

Bitty stood briskly and pecked a kiss onto Chowder’s forehead, hand patting him on the shoulder. “I know, honey.”

  
~*/\\*~

  
The kegster raged through the Haus. Tub juice flowed freely, music thumped and blared, pong duels were viciously contested, drunk students danced. 

Bitty was in the kitchen again, good and drunk, sliding another pie into the oven. The room was filled with teammates and friends he adored and their conversation fought to continue above the music, a pleasant backdrop. Until, that is, Shitty began to launch into a truly explicit recounting of a recent hookup. Lardo, Jack, Ransom and Holster, and Chowder all lounged around him, drinks held loosely, their expressions various shades of amused, interested, long-suffering, and bashful. Bitty busied himself with the pie as the story continued unfolding, and all might have remained fine had Shitty not chosen at that point to direct a joking, “We all know Chowder’s a raging horn-dog of a motherfucker just beneath that shiny exterior,” at Chowder. 

“How dare you make an accusation like that about our pure goalie,” Bitty roared into the conversation, stalking to Shitty and wagging a finger in his laughing face. The others laughed, and no one noticed the way Holster and Ransom grinned secretly at each other or how their eyes watched Chowder knowingly. And if the two D-men saw Bitty press himself too snugly to Chowder while covering his ears in mock indignation, if they saw how Chowder shifted to hide what they were certain was the beginnings of a hard-on, and if they saw the teasing, daring look Bitty gave Chowder over his shoulder as he walked back to his pie, they certainly weren’t going to say anything. 

**Author's Note:**

> Like I said, no excuse. As I noted in the tags, I'm running with the assumption that they got lubed up as needed by the power of fanfic. If that means this is secretly an AU but only where assholes are self-lubing too, or if that means they had a whole ordeal of fetching lube, or even Ransom or Holster happening to have some in their pockets, so be it. I didn't feel like making a whole deal of it, so here we are lmao. This is also clearly dubcon because they didn't have any discussions about literally any of this ahead of time, and there's obviously some unnegotiated kink aspects to what happened, but, for what it's worth, I was not writing this with a scenario of non-con in mind, mostly just more fanfic handwaving. Do with that what you will.


End file.
